


Locked In

by Moorishflower



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-29
Updated: 2010-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-10 20:40:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hunter and the Devil are locked in a house for an indeterminate amount of time...It sounds like a joke, but really, it's just Jo's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locked In

  
Jo wakes up in a room that she is fairly certain she did not fall asleep in. For one, it's obviously not in the Roadhouse – the bed she's lying in smells like lavender and dryer sheets, rather than sweat, gun oil, and alcohol (even if she doesn't drink all that often, the smell tends to permeate _everything_). For another, the sheets she's managed to wrap around her body aren't made of cheap cotton, but something that feels like it just might be silk.

And there's also the fact that she's naked, and she's pretty sure she went to sleep wearing a tank top and some sweatpants.

"Ah," she hears. It's the sort of voice you don't really expect to hear upon waking up in a strange place without your clothes: soft, unassuming, maybe a little bit arrogant, but hey, she's dealt with Dean before. She's managed to conquer her crush on Dean Winchester, so she can handle just about any man, thanks. "You're awake. I was wondering if I would need to shake you."

A figure steps out of the shadows that puddle in the corners of the room, and Jo realizes immediately why she should no longer judge people based on their voices.

"Oh God," Jo breathes, and Lucifer tilts his head at her, like a curious bird of prey.

"Not even close," he says softly.

~

As it turns out, things could be worse. The room she woke up in is connected to an entire house, and she manages to find a closet that's absolutely _stuffed_ with clothes, although there are only three pairs of jeans that are actually in her size, and most of the shirts are too small.

She's slightly disturbed when she notices that there aren't any bras or underwear. Hell, she'd take a pair of boxers at this point.

And all the while, Lucifer just…stands there. The Devil _stands there_, not speaking, watching Jo rummage through a couple drawers of non-fitting clothes. He doesn't try to…to steal her soul or rip her entrails out through her mouth or anything. Which is definitely a good thing, but she can't help but feel wary. Never mind the Biblical horror stories about the rising of Lucifer – the Winchesters have said that this guy is bad news, worse than any demon _ever_, and Jo trusts Sam and Dean.

She pulls a baggy, salmon-pink shirt over her head, pulling her hair out from under the collar, and Lucifer chooses that moment to speak up.

"I trust that you are more comfortable now," is what he says. Not 'I'm going to torture you until you sweat blood' or 'I'm going to give you to my Hellhounds and watch you writhe in agony as they gnaw on your intestines' (and Jesus, she's freaking _herself_ out with thoughts like that). Just…checking to see if she's comfortable.

Which she is, thanks.

"Yeah," she says hesitantly. And then, in a ballsy move that would make her mother proud (and would also make her shake her head in exasperation), Jo squares her shoulders and stands up straight (which does absolutely nothing, because Lucifer is at least as tall as Dean), and says, "Now tell me what the _fuck_ is going on."

Lucifer blinks at her, slow, serene. He's less like a bird, she realizes, and more like a cat.

Or maybe a snake. She can easily picture him with slit pupils, and lidless eyes. Loose and smooth and beautiful in the way that a lot of deadly things are beautiful. Like you can't look away.

Lucifer smiles at her, and Jo blinks.

She looks away.

~

Jo searches the house for things that she can use as weapons. The kitchen doesn't have any knives in it, and all the forks and spoons are of the plastic variety. There are no pots or pans to be used as bludgeoning weapons, but she discovers that the freezer is literally _filled_ with microwave dinners, and the fridge is stocked with several gallons of milk, a few jugs of fruit juice ('Strawberry-Guava,' says one, 'That tropical flavor you know and love'), and bunches of grapes, bananas, and an entire vegetable drawer full of oranges.

All the furniture in the living room is either too sturdy to break, or too flimsy to be of any use even if she did break it.

Lucifer trails her from room to room like a lost puppy, occasionally stopping to examine the contents of drawers, his touch so light and delicate that it's impossible to tell when he's moved something. He does this for about an hour, not saying anything, not even making any noise beyond the occasional sound of interest when he finds something particularly fascinating. The first thing to elicit that sound is a plastic spork.

God, angels are fucked up.

Eventually, though, Jo has to stop, has to give in to the fact that there is absolutely nothing in the house that can be used as a weapon against a half-dead pixie, let alone Satan himself. She drops down into one of the sturdy chairs in the living room and buries her face in her hands.

"Please don't kill me," she says softly. Because maybe Lucifer's just been biding his time, waiting for Jo's guard to come down. Or maybe waiting for her to lose her hope.

She misses her mother.

"I'm not going to kill you," Lucifer says, sounding surprised, but in a vague sort of way, like he knew it was coming, and most of the surprise has already worn off. "Why would I do that?"

Jo spreads her fingers, peers at him from between them. Lucifer could be considered handsome, if it weren't for all the…Jesus, she has no idea what those are. They look like shiny, newly healed burns, clumped in patches on his cheeks, his forehead, his neck. "Because you're the Devil? And because I can't think of any other reason why you've trapped me in some weird Charles Manson funhouse? If you're going to try to use me to get to Sam and Dean, don't bother, because I'll die first."

Lucifer sort of…_shudders_, all over, when she mentions Sam. Which is disturbing, because that's a movement she normally associates with really, really good fantasies. The kind she used to have about Dean. But, at the same time, it isn't sexual. It's just this bizarre, _yearning_ motion.

Jo decides to stop thinking about it while she's ahead.

"I am not the one who brought you here," Lucifer says softly. Like it's an admission. Like it's something he's a little bit ashamed of.

Jo blinks.

"Explain," she says, and Lucifer tilts his head in interest.

~

As far as 'plans to take over the world' go, Jo's heard better ones.

"We're expected to have tantric devil sex," she says skeptically, and Lucifer nods. "And neither of us can leave this house without suffering crippling pain. And this is all in order to conceive the Antichrist."

"That's a popular misconception," Lucifer says mildly. "If you were to bear my child, it would be a Nephilim, not a Cambion."

Jo stares at him.

"I am not a demon," Lucifer says, far too patiently to be anything other than condescending. "Any child begotten by me would be, as you would say, 'half angel.'"

"I get that," she snaps. "I've read the Bible, and I'm not _stupid_." Well. She's read Revelations (which has sort of become required reading for the Apocalypse), and if the Devil starts talking about how young and inexperienced she is, Jo swears she's going to punch him in his stupid, fire-and-brimstone face.

They sit in silence for long minutes. Lucifer seems perfectly content to just _stare_ at her, which is…eerie.

"Screw this," she says, and stands, and leaves the room. Lucifer watches her go, but does not follow.

She almost gets as far as the front door.

Which is locked and warded, by the way, so even if she _didn't_ feel like her lungs were on fire and her skin was being boiled, she's pretty sure she'd still have a hard time getting out. She hears a long, low sound of pain coming from the living room, stunted and broken, like the person isn't used to _feeling_, and she realizes that that's _Lucifer_. That's the Devil making that sound, because of _her_.

She curls into a ball in front of the door, shuddering and shaking until the pain, abruptly, eases. She goes slack with relief, and manages to roll onto her side, because she's pretty sure that – yep. Lucifer's standing over her, looking sort of amazed and sort of pissed off.

"I suggest you do not do that again," he says, and yeah, okay, Jo can get behind that. She's all for a complete lack of soul-scorching pain.

~

Jo makes herself a microwave dinner (her choices are Hungry Man meals and Lean Cuisines – she goes for the cheeseburger over the low-fat enchiladas, because it's not like she's worried Lucifer will disapprove of her figure). Lucifer watches her intensely. For all that he's apparently the Father of Lies and the Great Serpent, he's also very obviously an angel – Jo can see a bit of Castiel in the way he tilts his head, in how he watches her eat, like it's fascinating, and not just a necessary part of being human.

She gets sick of it pretty quick, and, because she can't think of anything else to do (she still thinks that yelling at him might get her killed, no matter what he says), she makes Lucifer a microwave dinner, too.

"I do not require food," he reminds her when she sets the little plastic tray in front of him.

Jo stares belligerently at him until he takes a bite of his beer-battered chicken and cheese fries. He spits out the chicken, but he eats the fries, and then, when it becomes apparent that Jo is only interested in her cheeseburger, he eats her fries, too.

~

When Lucifer tries to explain the fine details of their imprisonment, how they've basically been trapped here by well-meaning demons trying to ease their master's transition into 'Overlord of the Earth,' he gets so worked up about how incompetent demons are that he sets a table on fire.

He immediately puts it out again, with nothing more than a clench of his fist and a brief flare of _cold_ in the air around them, but Jo resolves to be more wary, from now on. It's easy to forget that she's sharing a house, that she is _magically tied to_, a creature than can barbecue her heart just by blinking at her, but that's exactly what Lucifer is. He's wild and distant and frozen inside, even if he does like cheese fries, even if he sometimes looks at Jo like he thinks she might be a little bit fantastic. But never in a skeezy way – she's been cruised by douchebags in bars before, and Lucifer just looks at her like she's _interesting_. He very obviously doesn't expect her to give in to his minions' demands that they…produce offspring, or whatever.

Which is good, because Jo's uterus is most definitely closed for business.

"So, you're not just going to…" Jo swallows. She can't bring herself to say 'rape me,' because she honestly doesn't want to give Lucifer ideas, and also? That's terrifying. More terrifying than monsters, or ghosts, or demons. The idea of being _helpless_. Even thinking about it is making her skin tighten up, every muscle tense in anticipation of needing to _run_, which will be made difficult by the fact that she can't get more than twenty feet from him without feeling like her brains are being charbroiled.

But Lucifer just _looks_ at her, like the very idea is offensive to him. And maybe it is. She keeps thinking of him as something separate, something that isn't a demon _or_ an angel, but still has all the qualities of both. The fact is, though, that he's undeniably _Heavenly_, which contradicts everything she's ever been told.

"I would never stoop to such an act," Lucifer says, low and quiet. And, God help her, but Jo believes him.

Because he isn't a demon.

He's something entirely different.

~

Whatever demons trapped them here might not be very bright (and they might not live to see the light of another day, judging by how Lucifer tenses up if Jo makes the mistake of mentioning them), but they at least have some memory of what humans need. The bathrooms are stocked with toilet paper, soap, and shampoo, the freezer alone could feed a family of three for months, and there's even a small laundry room with a washer, a dryer, and jugs of detergent and fabric softener, and boxes of dryer sheets. In short, it's a _home_, not just a house, and Jo wonders who ended up paying the price for her comfort. Because _Lucifer_ certainly doesn't need fabric softener, or shampoo, or microwave meals.

And he certainly doesn't need the newly discovered entertainment room, with its wide-screen television and its seemingly endless Nintendo gaming systems. Jo isn't a master at video games (that had always been Ash), but she knows how they work, if only because there were times, when she was younger, when she'd been friends with the children of other hunters, hunters who had retired, or who had been too injured to keep up the fight. She remembers playing a Sega, once, though she can't recall where, or when.

And since the entertainment room is more than twenty feet from the kitchen and the bedroom, Jo has to accompany Lucifer there anyways. So she might as well teach him the basics while she's there, and hope that he's not the kind of person (angel?) who throws controllers when he's frustrated, because she gets the feeling that, if Lucifer throws something, he'll end up putting holes in the walls.

And Jo is still hoping that the real owners of this house are just…on vacation, somewhere. That they'll be coming back, to a house free of damage.

It's a stupid thing to hope for, considering that demons are involved, but she doesn't know what else to do.

"You press the A button to jump," Jo says patiently. Lucifer presses the button and watches, obviously fascinated, as Mario jumps over a wall.

"Humans are endlessly intriguing creatures," he murmurs. He runs Mario into a Piranha Plant and frowns when the health gauge depletes. "What did I do?"

"You ran into one of the enemies," Jo explains. "When you touch an enemy, you get hurt." She can't believe she's sitting on a couch explaining _Mario_ to the Devil. Isn't Satan supposed to be the master of temptation? You'd think he'd know about…things like video games, and junk food, and drugs and alcohol. But Lucifer only seems to have a working knowledge of a few things – the internet being one of them, amusingly enough – and apparently Nintendo never made that list.

Lucifer frowns at the screen, gently steering Mario away from a Bob-Omb. "I would think that humans would create methods of entertaining themselves that did not involve the simulation of pain," he says softly. "This world is already so full of agony. I plan to change that."

Jo swallows. "Uh-huh," she says faintly, and can't help but notice that Lucifer doesn't sound _thrilled_, or full of maniacal bloodlust, or anything like that. He sounds sort of…melancholy. A little sad. Like he's genuinely upset by how much pain and suffering there is in the world.

_Sympathy for the Devil, huh._ Jo shows him how to jump on top of enemies to defeat them, and tries not to think about it.

~

Weeks pass. Jo can't find a calendar, but she _does_ find scrap paper, and she tries to monitor the rising and setting of the sun. None of the clocks in the house work, but she still tries to keep track – it's been two weeks, by her reckoning, and that isn't a long time, but it sure seems like it when you're trapped in a house with Satan.

They've measured (well, Jo measured, and Lucifer watched with thinly-veiled amusement), and there's almost exactly twenty feet between the bedroom and the living room. Which means that at first Jo tried to sleep in the bed, because it's far more comfortable than she's used to, but she kept waking in the middle of the night to find Lucifer standing or sitting next to the bed, staring off into the middle distance. It was creepy and kind of intimidating, so Jo moved out to the living room and made a nest on the couch, and now at least it feels less like an invasion of privacy, and more like Lucifer just happens to be there.

It's still creepy, but she's dealt with worse.

_How messed up is my life,_ she wonders, _that I have Lucifer himself watching me while I sleep and I can come back with 'I've been through worse?'_

As far as housemates go, though, Lucifer doesn't talk much, he doesn't make a mess, he only eats when Jo eats (and even then it's sort of hit and miss, since he doesn't appear to like meat), and, to top it all off, he's _polite_. Which isn't something that you'd expect from the Devil, but he listens when Jo explains things, and he retains the information, and Jo has caught him _folding clothes_ more than once, which is something that Jo doesn't bother with – she usually just leaves the ones she doesn't want to wear in piles on the floor.

It would feel surprisingly domestic, if it weren't for the whole 'you can't leave until you're pregnant with angel babies' part.

"So, you're not worried about getting out?" she asks at one point, Jo sprawled loose-limbed and easy on the couch, Lucifer sitting straight and proper in the easy chair. "I mean, I'm _really_ glad that you haven't decided to kill me or get me pregnant, but doesn't this sort of interfere with the whole 'destroying the world' plan?"

"I have faith in my destiny," is Lucifer's soft, too-simple response. "Everything that has been foretold shall come to pass. Sam Winchester _will_ say yes. I will meet Michael in battle, and…" His brows furrow slightly, and then he shrugs. "I have no doubt that, whatever the outcome, things shall be as they were always meant to be."

"So you still have faith in God," Jo prompts, and Lucifer rolls his shoulders in something that's almost, but not quite, a shrug.

"I would not call it faith," he says slowly. "But I acknowledge and respect His power, even if I do not agree with all of His decisions. I know that His hand shall guide me, whether I desire it to or not."

"That's sort of fatalistic."

"It is what it is."

Lucifer can't exactly get up and leave the room, but Jo gets the feeling that he wants to. That he wants to go someplace quiet and lonely, in order to gather his thoughts. She feels…unexpectedly _sorry_ for him. The way he tells it (and this might be a lie, but, somehow, she doesn't think so), he has no choice in this. Like God just dumped this awful duty on him and said 'Now you're the bad guy, deal with it.'

Jo does the only thing she can think of, to give him a little peace: she pulls one of the couch's pillows over her face and tries to go to sleep.

~

It's disturbingly easy to fall into a routine. There aren't any hunts for Jo to attend to, and Lucifer isn't orchestrating the destruction of mankind while he's looked up in a house somewhere (Jo still hasn't figured out exactly where they are – the area outside the house is thick with trees, dark green and huge, but they could be anywhere, literally _anywhere_). So she gets into the habit of keeping all the window shades open, and waking with the rising of the sun, and falling asleep when the moon rises into the sky. It means she's getting a lot more rest than she usually does, and she's half afraid that this will make it difficult for her to get back into the swing of things, once she's figured out a way to break the wards on the front door.

Spellwork has never been her forte, but the idea that she'll never escape, that she'll be trapped in this oddly suburban home with Lucifer forever, never even crosses her mind.

Lucifer is fairly helpful, all things considered. He helps her to translate the sigils that surround the front and back doors. More than half of them are angelic in nature, designed to keep him bound to the house itself.

"Those are a lot of wards," Jo says hesitantly.

"I am a powerful angel," is his response. Point taken. But even Lucifer can't touch the sigils without getting a nasty shock for his trouble. He has to be relegated to the sidelines while Jo tries to figure out where one ward ends and another begins. Even so, he hovers close, in case she trips her fingers over something that's designed to keep her from prying too deep. Lucifer has this _presence_, an almost overwhelming aura, if you will, and his physical stature doesn't do anything to diminish that. He's tall, and he has broad shoulders, and blue eyes, and he's sort of scruffy, but in a handsome way, not an 'I sit in front of the computer all day drinking PBR' sort of way. Jo suppresses a shiver when he leans too close, when the sheer _heat_ of him becomes apparent. He's said before that the whole 'fire and brimstone' thing is a misconception – that Hell is a frozen, desolate place, where the flames are made of ice that never melts and the metaphysical walls ooze tears that burn like acid – but Jo has a hard time believing it when Lucifer just might have a furnace burning inside him. She imagines that it's all this power he's supposed to have, slowly tearing its way through his skin.

"Do those hurt?" she asks, and immediately regrets it, because Lucifer doesn't seem to know what she's talking about, at first. He cocks his head at her, and then, slowly, reaches up to touch the shiny patches of pink skin that dot his face and neck. They look like burns, but dryer, smoother. Like skin that's trying to heal. Lucifer lays his fingers against the largest one on his cheek, and then shrugs. It's an entirely human gesture, and it startles a huff of amusement from Jo.

"I do not feel pain as humans do," Lucifer says softly. "I…_regret_ that I am forced to damage this vessel needlessly. But Nick serves his purpose, as do we all."

"Nick?"

"The vessel's name," Lucifer clarifies. "His wife and child were murdered. I offered him a chance at vengeance."

Jo removes her hand from one of the wards, and Lucifer takes a small step back. "You lied."

"I never lie. When I purify the Earth, no human shall be spared. Least of all murderers."

"We aren't all like that," Jo sighs.

"You are _all_ flawed. Incomplete. I pity you, but I will not bow to you, as my Father required of me. Far better for this glorious little planet to be wiped clean, and allowed to start anew."

Jo takes a step back, and another. Lucifer watches her calmly as she retreats from the room.

It's become so easy, to forget exactly what she's dealing with – what she's _living_ with, essentially. Lucifer isn't human, and no amount of microwave meals or video games will change the fact that he wants to wipe the human race off the face of the Earth.

Jo resolves not to forget this again.

~

Jo wakes up the next day, only to discover that Lucifer has made her breakfast.

Well, it's breakfast in as much as their limited supplies allow: frozen sausage patties that Lucifer has obviously tried to cook in the oven (as evidenced by the marginally charred edges), and a 'breakfast' Lean Cuisine that's some kind of egg panini. He's also poured her a glass of the strawberry-guava juice and left it on the table for her. Everything's been set out – a napkin, a fork and knife, and Lucifer himself sits at the opposite end of the table, musing deeply over a glass of ice water. Every so often he touches the condensation on the side of the glass, drawing figures in it that Jo thinks she wouldn't be able to understand, not even if she studied them for a hundred years.

The sausage, though slightly burnt, is delicious. The panini is cold in the center, but Jo skipped out on dinner the previous night, disturbed by what Lucifer had said, and so she wolfs it down regardless. Cold eggs are better than no eggs.

"I did not mean to make you uncomfortable," Lucifer says softly, and Jo puts down her fork and her glass of juice. Lucifer looks…painfully earnest, but Jo has spent plenty of time around hunters, and she knows when someone is lying to her.

"Bullshit," she says, and Lucifer glances up, looking mildly startled. "You knew _exactly_ how uncomfortable that would make me. Telling me that you plan on wiping humanity from the planet? _Hello_. _I'm_ human. There's no way you didn't make that leap."

Which begs the question: why is Lucifer bringing it up again in the first place? Does he want Jo to…absolve him of guilt or something? Is he even _capable_ of feeling guilt? And, even if he is, would he feel it over something like this? As far as Jo knows (as far as she's _seen_), humans are worth less than dirt to Lucifer – quite literally. The planet itself holds more meaning to him than the billions of people it houses. Jo's pretty sure that way of thinking isn't going to change any time soon.

She studies Lucifer's face, his pale eyes, the way his expression cycles rapidly through a handful of minutely different emotions: confusion, indecision, and then resignation. Jo squints.

"Did making me uncomfortable make _you_ uncomfortable?" she asks hesitantly. Because she gets the feeling that angels, and Lucifer in particular, don't do a lot of soul searching.

Lucifer stares down into his glass of ice water. If he were a hunter, he'd be trying to make excuses.

But he's not a hunter. He's a Fallen angel, he's the _Devil_, and Jo doubts that Lucifer has ever made excuses for _anything_.

"You were…afraid of me," Lucifer says slowly. "I have grown accustomed to our camaraderie, even fostered as it has been by our mutual captivity. And when that camaraderie was taken away, I felt…ill at ease. I find you intriguing. For a human."

Jo gets the feeling that 'for someone who isn't my intended vessel' is also included in that statement. She picks up her empty plate and her half-empty glass and dumps them both into the sink. She'll deal with the dishes later…or Lucifer will, if she doesn't. He's surprisingly neat, for the Devil.

"Yeah, well," she says softly. "I find you terrifying." _And oddly compelling._ But there's no way in hell (excuse the expression) that she's going to tell Lucifer _that_.

With nothing else to keep her in the kitchen, Jo moves back into the bedroom, where she can at least put a pillow over her head and pretend that Lucifer isn't less than twenty feet away, watching her.

~

Day twenty-nine just so happens to be the day that Jo searches the top shelf of the closet and finds about ten unopened packages of condoms (three of which are labeled as 'for her pleasure,' and two of which have spermicidal coatings), and an industrial-sized container of lubricant.

She stares at her findings for what seems like way longer than she _should_ be staring, but seriously? _Seriously_? Are Lucifer's demons _that_ stupid? Sure, it isn't a box of Plan B and birth control or anything, but Jo was always under the impression that 'spermicidal' is one of those words where it's kind of hard to mistake it for anything else. Not to mention the fact that the condoms are here in the first place – she's pretty sure that condoms all but scream 'I don't want to have a baby.'

"Jo?"

_How often does he say my name?_ Jo wonders. It can't be all that often, if hearing Lucifer say it – so soft, like he's worried she'll walk away from him again – makes her feel like this. Sort of weak and a little bit angry…but it's this odd, _good_ kind of angry. Like she's finally getting somewhere, with him. With herself.

"Your minions aren't all that bright," she says, and pulls down one of the boxes of condoms. She holds it in her hand, then tosses it in the general direction of Lucifer's voice – when she turns around, he's holding it in his hands, turning it this way and that. Examining it.

"I have been saying this for millennia," Lucifer says mildly. He frowns, peering intently at the box. "And these are…?"

"Condoms," Jo says. She gets a blank stare in return. "Christ, you really _have_ been out of the loop, haven't you? _Contraceptives._ Things that keep women from getting pregnant."

Lucifer looks at her as if he doesn't quite understand. Jo gives him a few minutes, and, eventually, a look of dawning comprehension spreads across his face.

"Oh," he says faintly. And then, "Jo, I have been…thinking."

"Don't care," Jo says. She's already reaching for the hem of her shirt – sex with the Devil is the absolute _last_ thing (_well, maybe second to last…or third…_) that she wants to put herself through, but if it means that she gets out of this house both physically intact and not pregnant, than it's something she'll just have to go through with.

"Jo," Lucifer says again, and then trails off when Jo pulls her shirt over her head.

Jo doesn't give him a chance to collect his thoughts.

~

Contrary to popular belief, wild, tantric sex with a supernatural being is precisely the same as wild, tantric sex with anyone else. Probably even a little bit worse, if Jo's being honest – Lucifer doesn't have the first clue what to do with a woman, in _any_ way. But he's a quick learner, the same as he is with everything else, and the next week passes by in a blur of sweat and quick trips to the kitchen in order to re-hydrate.

Jo learns that even Lucifer makes silly faces when he comes. Which is good to know, even if it makes her chest ache just a little bit more. She doesn't _want_ him to be the bad guy – she would rather there be no bad guys at all, really. But that isn't how the world works.

She also discovers that Lucifer is a cuddler, which would be disturbing if it weren't for the fact that he also radiates heat like a small furnace. She doesn't even need to sleep with blankets, if he stays with her. Which happens more often than not, to the surprise of them both.

"Jo," Lucifer says at one point. "There is something I want to tell you."

"Uh-huh," Jo sighs. She's tired. She isn't sure when the whole sex magic thing will kick in and unlock the doors and windows for them, but she hopes it's soon. There's only so many times you can fuck someone before you start to chafe, and that bottle of lube is starting to look awfully tempting. "If it's about how flawed and repulsive I am, save it. I can probably go again today, but if you start insulting me it'll put me off my game."

"You _are_ flawed," Lucifer insists earnestly. Jo raises her hand and covers her face with it, and then remembers what she's been _doing_ with her hands for the past six hours. She quickly moves it away as Lucifer curls tighter against her, hesitantly placing his palm against her waist. His skin is so _hot_.

"But," Lucifer says softly. "I am finding that I do not mind your flaws so much as I thought I would."

Jo closes her eyes, and then opens them again, because she's pretty sure she's either asleep or concussed – there's no way Lucifer would say something that…_nice_, is there? Well, nice for Lucifer, but still. Jo cautiously turns her head, coming nose to nose with Lucifer. She always forgets how _big_ he is, physically – his presence is so overwhelming that the body he inhabits often gets lost in the confusion, but he _is_ big. He's got big hands and a trim waist, and long legs. All things that Jo likes.

All things that she _shouldn't_ like when they belong to the being who wants to wipe out the entire human race.

Jo swallows down her first reaction - _'Don't you dare try and get on my good side, you can go straight back to Hell'_ \- and muscles through to the part of her that's actually _thinking_, not just feeling.

"I'll tell you what," Jo murmurs. "If you ever decide to stop with the whole 'kill all humans' thing, you come find me. We'll have a drink or something. But if you don't…if you go through with the apocalypse, then that's it. Don't expect me to be waiting for you, 'cause I'll be standing with Sam and Dean on the other side of the battlefield. I _will_ do everything I can to kill you, and I won't regret a single second of it."

Lucifer's hold on her hip tightens – Jo's half worried that his skin will just get hotter and hotter, and he won't let go…that he'll brand her with his handprint. But, after a moment, his grip eases, and Lucifer breathes quietly against her neck.

Then, "I understand."

"Good," Jo says, and turns so that she's lying on her side, facing him. His lips are slightly parted – have they even kissed yet? They've done everything else, it seems, but somehow kissing just…passed them by.

Jo leans forward, gingerly presses her mouth to Lucifer's. He's as hot on the inside as he is on the outside. Lucifer, after a moment of hesitation, shifts up into the kiss, his eyes never closing.

In the front hallway, the Enochian sigils flare once, a dazzling burst of light, and then fade away completely.


End file.
